


Aboard

by 12thofNever



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Post Gauda Prime, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12thofNever/pseuds/12thofNever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decades after Gauda Prime, Kerr Avon narrates this as an old man at the end of his life. He has a new ship and has assembled a new crew, but he can't leave Gauda Prime behind him. He will have one final surprise for everyone. </p><p>This may start off bleak, but... wait for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Five

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own take on Post Gauda Prime. Avon is the narrator again and I've introduced five new characters as his new crew, who have their own personality quirks. And there are also some familiar "visitations". (With a flashback to a "lost" moment from the episode "Star One".)

    "Good. You're all accounted for. How appropriate that it should all start here again in this wretched place."    
    I had handpicked this lot. It had taken quite a lot of diplomacy, something of which I have never quite mastered, even after several decades. The common thread entwining this mismatched bunch of miscreants and dissidents was their hatred for the Neo-Federation, of course. While this crew was not as sloppily put together as the Liberator's batch of former criminals had been, they were beginning to adopt a very familiar dynamic. Perhaps this was an unconscious decision on my part. I might have shuddered at the eerie similarities to my past if I was still capable of shuddering at anything anymore. Had Vila been alive and with me, he would have shuddered, I'm certain. I almost missed him at this moment: he would have had great affection for this gathered group of five newcomers. I'm not sure if the feeling would have been mutual, however.  
    They saw me as an old man with a granite stare and impeccable posture. (This was something I was keen to maintain as the rest of me inevitably aged.) My impeccable posture and I were fighting the harsh winds at sundown, my black duster making a sail behind me. I still had my favorite reliable pair of black books, a bit scuffed over the years like their owner. I don't think I've ever abandoned garments in all stark shades of ebony, especially not after Gauda Prime. Was I still in mourning? If you would like to believe that, yes.  
    My hair is longer now, wispier and silver rather than the chestnut of which it had been. I've earned these hard lines on my face and I find them quite useful for visual intimidation. So now, was this bunch actually intimidated by me? Not especially. In awe of me? Perhaps only a couple of them.  Impressed with me? Yes, most undoubtedly. This was the moment when I would be handing them their futures. Would they soon grow to hate me? Of course. And then they would also thank me. I was going to give them a treasure, after all.  
    "The ship is in orbit," I told them. "It's awaiting my instructions. Once I tell it to teleport you up, you must follow the advice of the ship's computer implicitly. That is crucial."  
    Their leader had been the first person I sought out to form this new crew and I had done the most research on her out of all five of them. I needed as my captain someone angry, even on the cusp of hate, but with enough self-awareness to recognize it and control it. She was the child of Federation officers who defected out of disgust for the regime, and while she had briefly been a soldier for the Neo-Feds, it had sickened her in the end but had not managed to break her. She had been court-martialed several times for having gone against orders, and by the time I had found her and offered her employment she had become a wandering ronin, looking for a cause worthy of her skills. Fortunately, she met all my criteria: idealistic, a tactical genius, a hero, foolhardy, compassionate. Yes, I was a bit wary of the very last one, but if I've learned anything this late in my life it is that we all needed that one major flaw in our character.  
    She was a tall, mahogany brown woman with an unwavering stare (suitable for a commander) and a headful of copper corkscrew curls that seemed beyond her control despite her straight-backed soldier's stance. She reminded me in some ways of Cally, but Cally mixed with... another. Her name was Persephone.  
    She crossed her arms, listening to my directive. She was adorned in a rust-colored leather jacket over a faded purple tunic. Her bronze-colored trousers had been repaired several times at the knees, and one of my newly designed guns was strapped to her waist. "Your ship's computer gives actual advice?" she asked, lifting skeptical black brows. "It doesn't just give data?"  
    I grinned. I knew that they would see it as more of a grimace than any expression of mirth. "It's a very unique computer."  
    This did not reassure the short, pale and wiry man standing behind her. This was Mero, who would be my ship's pilot. He had thick black hair that he kept flicking from his falcon-sharp eyes. These particular eyes absorbed all about him with quick intensity, yet here on the ground, he was uneasy. "Am I to trust this thing to help me fly my ship?" He curled his lip in contempt.  
    I fixed him to the spot with my cement stare. "If you want to fly MY ship and survive the experience, then yes, you will have to 'trust this thing'." I returned his sneer in kind.  
    Of all my new recruits, I distrusted Mero the most; but I needed a resourceful pilot who would be clever enough to work his way through the unfamiliar alien technology of my ship. His skills were second only to Jenna Stannis' on the Liberator. My research revealed that he had also been a smuggler like Jenna, easily persuaded by the proper price. But far from potentially being propositioned by our foes, Mero hated the Neo-Federation: in fact, his entire family had been slaughtered as bystanders in a Neo-Fed raid in a marketplace on Herrona Five. His family had unfortunately been complete innocents, not on any side of the conflict at all. But it had the result of throwing Mero firmly to our side. He had himself destroyed a few incoming Federation arms shipments all on his own, without anyone else's aid or expertise.  
    I understood petulant loners, and so I overlooked my own irritation with him. "Remember that I am merely loaning you this ship," I told him but I was also addressing all the others. "It is and will always be MINE."  
    "But what happens when you're not around anymore, old man?"  
    This flippant comment regarding my age had been made by my chosen artificial intelligence expert. I turned to take in his arrogant, flashy grin. His name was Zachriel and he was impossibly handsome: tall, ebony, impeccably dressed ... and yes, utterly annoying. But he was also brilliant so I forgave him for this moment, at least.  
     I said with a slow smile, "Oh, I can assure you that I'll still be around for a very long time."  
     We kept our eyes focused on one another as his astute brain considered my words; his smooth brow furrowed, his grin wavered just a bit. He suspected something already, I could tell. He was, after all, a very smart man. But he was also dealing with me.  
    Zachriel was an idealistic alpha-grade, formerly of wealth and privilege, not unlike myself. Despite his vanity at his own technical genius (and probably everything else about his person, for that matter), he had been a very vocal human rights activist who had unfortunately angered not only his own family but the Neo-Feds. He had been imprisoned numerous times and had been threatened with "re-programming", that is, until his rich parents had bailed him out numerous times with the promise he would behave like a good little Federation citizen. Infuriated by this, he had turned to hacking for his cause. However, he could not stay anonymous from a much more experienced hacker (yours truly.) He had heard of me, of course; they all had. He pretended not to be impressed, but he was merely posturing. I was a legend to him, after all.  
    The enormous and muscular woman with a fuzzy auburn crew-cut standing behind Zachriel had gentle eyes for my computer technician, and I could instantly see this was going to be a problem. Not because there was anything wrong with physical attraction, of course, but it did have a tendency to cloud your judgement, cause you to make mistakes.  
    Nerissa had once been a Federation soldier, strong, honorable, all that nonsense. She had been good at taking orders, good with weapons, good for morale. I suppose you could say she had a big heart as well (but not of the bleeding variety that Zachriel possessed). She could also kill you with only her bare hands and there was no inhibitor chip to prevent it. It took a great deal to earn her trust: she had seen too many of her comrades betrayed by those she served, and finally her own faltering loyalty resulted in her being drugged and taken to a mutoid-manufacturing camp. She would have made a prize Neo-Fed warrior giantess, enthralled to the regime, had I not gotten to her first. Now she was honor-bound to me. I would just have to wearily endure her little crush on Zachriel.  
    "Where will you be?" Nerissa asked me, surprised. "You're not accompanying us? Is that safe for you?"  
    I was gratified, I admit, by her concern. She wanted to be my bodyguard. Perhaps, had it been an earlier time, I would have accepted her services; now it was far, far too late. "Persephone will fill you in on my plans. Rest assured, I can take care of myself, Nerissa. I always have." I offered her a rare smile that was actually genuine.  
    The last member of my crew rarely spoke at all. Even now, she lingered behind all the rest of them with a silent but keen, vulpine attention. She was a small, middle-aged woman, attractive and unsettling in her fox-like way. Her long brown hair was tied back with a leather strap and there was the addition of a single dyed streak of scarlet in her mane, probably for the sake of none-too-subtle symbolism. Kurasi was a former bounty hunter. She presently had three guns strapped to her, one at each hip and the biggest, most intimidating specimen slung over her back. I could not help but think she reminded me of a woman I had casually shot on Gauda Prime all those years ago. I had been told her name was Klyn.  
    You see, I have committed to memory every detail of that one fatal day, including the woman I had shot for calling security. Kurasi could have been her feral twin. I had been naturally suspicious when she had come to me personally to offer her services. She could have turned me in for a large amount of money (had she managed to survive the attempt) but she had surprised me instead, and I admired her for it. I had at first wondered if she might be a Neo-Fed spy because her motives were still not logical to me. Then all became clear when she had uttered a single name. This was the one name which still had absolute power over me and she had wielded it with precision.  
    The moments when I can base a decision on intuition rather than pure logic are almost non-existent. Emotion has always been my undoing. However, Kurasi being with us had been an emotional decision, and she knew this was quite an honor, not to mention a something akin to a miracle. All this because she had spoken a name.  
    There was not enough data about her for me to add a mercenary to my ship's crew, but she proved herself to me by "eliminating" some obstacles to my mission. She was very discreet. Also, Nerissa seemed to like and even trust her. She and the big woman had developed a quick and unusual friendship, despite Kurasi not being much of a conversationalist.  
    So here were my five, together as one, enduring the harsh wind of this scarred plain. And it was almost time for me to tell them all good-bye.  
    "Now then," I addressed them. "I want you to abandon me here and I will inform you by communicator when I've decided to send you up to my ship. It must look as if you've overpowered me, stolen my vessel and absconded."  
    Persephone frowned in disbelief at the desolate surroundings: the hilly plain where we stood was flattened and scorched from past air strikes and most of the only remaining trees were bent into blackened, withered skeletons. The clotted clouds were bruising to purple in the advancing gray twilight sky. "Leave you? Here? There is no where for you to go. Why do it this way, Avon?"  
    I glared at her. "Those were my terms in exchange for the use of my ship."  
    The pilot Mero stepped forward, stabbing a hand in the air before me. "I think this is some kind of trap. We'll be sent into a Neo-Fed ambush. Why else would he want to be mysteriously left alone on this wasteland of a planet? He's got friends waiting to pick him up."  
    Nerissa made a slight move to pull Mero away from my perimeter, but I held up a casual hand and she relaxed her stance. My hard stare was enough to prevent him from assaulting me; I could tell that he was actually afraid of me. Whatever it was that he knew about my past or my reputation made him freeze in place. Especially when I made a point to grin at him.  
    "Friends?" I said. "I have no friends. At best I have allies, perhaps. And certainly no one who will swoop in to rescue me from this hellhole."  
    "What about us?" asked Persephone, and this made my heart suddenly lurch a bit. I controlled it, showing nothing. "I know you chose us for your team, but is it so inconceivable to consider us your friends as well as your recruits?"  
    Mero gave a derisive bark of laughter.  
    Zachriel lifted doubtful eyebrows, muttering, "Oh yeah. We're all best chums. Right, Kurasi?"  
    Kurasi said nothing. She only watched me.  
    I bared my teeth at the absurdity of the inquiry. "Yes, that is inconceivable. You see, it would require a lot more sentiment than I am actually capable of producing. No, you are only a means to an end -- all five of you. We all share a common goal, and it will best be met with the tools I have to offer you." I pointed to the darkening sky, indicating my unseen vessel that awaited them.  
    "I need some clarification," Zachriel demanded then.  
    "Of course you do," I sighed wearily.  
    "You never explained how you acquired such a 'wonderful' ship."  
    "Oh, it's a very long story that I don't have the time or patience to relate right now. Rest assured, you will eventually be told it in full once safely on board. What you need to know now is that it is unlike any starship you will ever encounter. And the computer will instruct you as to its proper use."  
    "This is all very convenient and a little too good to be true," the pilot snorted.  
    "So it would seem," I said. "But believe me, it wouldn't be the first time such a miraculous thing has occurred. I only implore you that you don't make the same mistakes my former teams made with their ships."  
    "As YOU did with the Liberator?" Zachriel smirked. "And the Scorpio?"  
    He expected anger from me but I only tilted my head slightly and offered him my most condescending smile. I purred: "Yes. Learn from history. That's your legacy."  
    I turned away and tried to hide from them the growing ache in my side. The longer I stood there and blathered on pointlessly with them, the more the flames of pain grew, all the length of my body, from hip to rib cage. But I needed to maintain my impassive demeanor, my illusion of control. I had waited until they had all arrived before deciding to unveil the next-to-last prize to aid their crusade. I had until now kept it safely hidden behind some dry, blaster-burnt underbrush.  
    "Your number is five," I said and lifted out the box of tangled circuitry, still fighting to conceal my pain. "Here is your sixth crew-member. His--" I corrected myself swiftly. "Its name is Orac."  
    I saw Zachriel's handsome, annoying face lose all its arrogance then, replaced instead by sudden, unguarded and almost child-like wonder.  
    "No, seriously? Orac." His whisper contained definite reverence now as he stepped forward, his hands hovering over Orac's transparent casing with nervous energy, desperately wanting to touch it. "I've heard the rumors--"  
    "Take them with a grain of salt. Though Orac's reputation precedes it, I'm certain he -- it will tell you itself of how indispensable it is. I ask that you give Orac the utmost protection." I glanced at him, and then at Nerissa, who straightened her shoulders and nodded, also accepting the chosen responsibility. And so I officially designated the two of them as Orac's keepers. "But a word of advice: while its data retrieval is unsurpassed, Orac's 'advice' can sometimes be dubious. Use your best judgement. It is only a machine..." I handed the box of tubes and wires to Zachriel. "...after all."  
    After Zachriel had relieved me of my penultimate gift, I walked away from them for a short distance, and stood with my hands clasped behind my back. More wind caused our garments to snap about and there was a sickly gray-yellow glow at the horizon where the sun was finally dissolving. Night was coming and I wanted them gone. I did not have very long.  
    "I want you all at a safe location, then I will give the command to teleport. Have you ever teleported before, any of you?"  
    Like children in a classroom, they all shook their heads in unison. It might have been hilarious. I winced again at the fire in my side, which would make even a slight dry chuckle an act of excruciating pain. They all looked at me with varying degrees of nervousness: it was the beginning, after all. I muttered, "You'll get used to it. Those bracelets you're wearing? Always keep spares. Trust me on this."  
    Persephone then strode up to me, probably thinking she might have meaningful last words with me. I wanted none of that, but she was persistent. "I've made up my mind, Persephone," I said.  
    "Call me Percy," she said with an almost embarrassed smile.  
    "Must I?"  
    "Friends call me Percy. And yes, you don't consider me your friend. Yet." She looked like she wanted to touch my arm, sensing that I was not being entirely forthright about my motives to stay here on the planet.  
    "Perseph--Percy," I said, acquiescing, "you need to leave me here. It's where I belong."  
    "Avon, can't we persuade you to come with us?" she gently pleaded again. "A man of your intelligence and experience--"  
    "--Needs to stay right here so there can be a clean slate again." My stare was venomous, but it was not directed at her. "I am offering you a way to fix the things I broke." I then offered her a small, unbidden sigh.  
    "Please," I whispered.  
    We stood there looking at one another for a moment. The others were too far away now to hear our quiet words. I watched the wind toss at her unruly curls and part of me wanted to smooth them down. I was always partial to curls.  
    "You should do well enough," I said in a flat, impassive tone, fighting back a sudden surge of sentiment and, worst of all, memories. "I programmed the ship's computer myself to respond to all your questions and needs. It will recognize you as the captain. And it's imperative that once you are all aboard my ship, you retain the name I gave it. Otherwise the ship's computer will not respond to you."  
    "You never told me your ship's name," Persephone said.  
    I smiled with genuine sadness then.  
    "Ah, yes. It's called The Blake."  



	2. The Last

    They've left me and I am grateful because the pain has now become impossible to hide. I grab at my side and my coat flails about me in the greedy gathering wind as I struggle for this last familiar place.  
    The actual outpost is long gone, but there is still one last living tree on the crest of a small nearby hill; one barely surviving thing in this desolate plain of Gauda Prime, much like myself. It probably doesn't have much time left on this planet either. Once I reach the place where I will finally sit down, I will speak the command that will send my new crew up to The Blake. And hopefully they won't blow it up. I do have that much faith in them, after all.  
    This new lot has a chance to actually get it right this time, but only if they follow the instructions I left with the ship's computer.  
    I am completely alone now and there will be no one to bury or mourn me. It's how I want it, after all. None of the new crew members knew of course that I was dying, not even Persephone. (Or Percy.) This was also part of my plan.  
    I stumble about until I locate the last piece of the Scorpio's wreckage that I've used to mark the place where they fell: it's a twisted metal gravestone, this remnant of the computer Slave, fixed at the location where we had all been together one last time. I stand before it, listening to the wind howling through the jagged dead branches of the other trees. I'm still the last tree standing, but this would not for be for long. The misshapen metal husk that was Slave is overgrown and entangled with several decades' growth of vines. I try to pull them away but they break and crumble easily in my hands. Even the vines are dead. I sigh.  
    Welcome back, Avon.       
    Gingerly, I turn and stagger toward the living tree. As I lean against it, the pain has become an inferno on the left side of my body, the location of an old, badly healed gunshot wound. This was the added insult to the crushing weight that was now engulfing my chest. My back against the tree, I slide down its trunk until I am sitting sprawled at its roots. I look up into sky, not seeing the congealing purple storm clouds but rather the bright flowers of explosions from decades ago, hearing laser-blasts and the screeching of ships plummeting from the scarlet sky. I remember one particular sound louder than all the others-- and I hear it three times over.  
    So of course that's when he comes to me. He steps languidly over the crushed dead vines, the powdery charcoal soil and the melted metal remains. He stands there and he has the impertinence to look at me with pity. His face still has such sorrow in it, and his eyes so much love for me.  
    "You're an hallucination," I growl, clutching at my side, wincing against the wind. It is sending dust into my eyes, but it still does not erase him from my vision. "You're not... really...here."  
    "If you insist," says Blake and he crouches down in front of me. He is not the scarred, battle-weary bounty hunter of Gauda Prime whom I shot three times in the chest. This is instead proud, idealistic, curly-haired, beautiful Blake, still dressed in his Liberator garments. The Blake I had kissed and made love to one single night long ago; the same Blake who had told me he had always trusted me, with whose name I had christened my final ship. I want to remember this version of him from before the disaster of Star One-- not the other Roj Blake who had died in my arms here on Gauda Prime and whose last word had been my name.  
    "You're not a ghost," I insist, continuing in my attempt to force my fading brain to retain its logic. "I don't believe...in...ghosts."  
    Blake kneels on one knee, resting his arm casually against it. His brown eyes sparkle, unaffected by the dust swirling about us. "Does it really matter what I am now? Only that I'm here and so are you. You've called me here, Avon."  
    "Have I?" I gasp out, my eyes half-closed. My eyes sting. The damned dust. "I thought I wanted to be alone. So it's no wonder you would... disrespect my wishes and decide to show up just... to...infuriate me one last time."  
    He grins. "Be careful, Avon--"  
    "-- I know, my sentiment is showing. That's what another imaginary Blake once said to me."  
    Blake's imaginary eyes soften. "Avon, are those tears?"  
    "Now you're the one hallucinating. Or perhaps these are ghost tears."  
    "No, you're actually crying. How many more miracles should I expect from you now?"  
    I grin dangerously at him, my eyes still streaming. "Funny that you mention it: I have one more up my sleeve."  
    Blake's thick dark brows peak in compassion. "We've been waiting here for you, Avon. You're the last of us. You thought you'd probably go down in a hail of gunfire by now, but look at you. You're an old man dying of a broken heart."  
    "How melodramatic of you, Blake." I bare my teeth again, wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands. "But I kept my heart beating, didn't I? I kept it working. It was the least I could do... for you."  
    Blake sits beside me then; I can almost feel his insubstantial dream shoulder touch mine. No, I actually do feel him. He is there, brushing against me, reaching for my hand. He is with me.  
    "You didn't let it give up. Thank you, Avon."  
    "I told you I have this... last surprise for you, Blake," I murmur. I'm fading but I can feel him enclosing me in his arms, I can even smell the spicy musk of him, the stubble against my cheek, his head against mine. "One more gift for you... love..."  
    I lift my wrist-com. "Five to teleport," I tell The Blake's computer.  
    I can feel it now. I'm slipping away.  
    "Blake," I sigh.  
  
    "Up and safe and ... oh my god," Persephone gasps.  
  
    I am re-awakened with abrupt precision by the teleport command. It is as if I have been thrown into a vast, illuminated infinity, being pulled forward and scattered; and yet at the same time entangled and enclosed. Tendrils of me reach out, searching, finding, reacting, solving. And I am alive. I am physical and yet no where at all. And it is glorious.  
    All five of the new crew members are standing on the flight-deck of The Blake, looking about themselves in disbelief. The ship, my ship, was created to look much like the other two space vessels I had found myself commandeering: the Liberator and the Scorpio. It has the hard sleekness of Scorpio and the alien strangeness of Liberator-- even its giant central computer screen had been shaped into a hexagon in homage to the lost seventh member of Blake's crew, the colossal Zen. This had been my idea, of course, when I had given my alien engineers construction plans.  
    This new computer with Zen's face now addresses the five new arrivals. (Six, if you count Orac.) It startles them by springing to sudden visual life, bands of amber and blue and crimson scattering in a kaleidoscope across its vast screen. Its introductory voice is booming:  
    +PLEASE IDENTIFY THE NAME OF THIS SHIP.+  
    Persephone steps forward and stands at parade rest before the ship's computer. She answers with complete confidence and trust:  
    "The Blake."  
    The computer's voice then becomes much more familiar. I purr:  
    +Well now. You an call me Avon. Welcome aboard.+  
   


	3. The Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avon is the ship's computer now but he retains some decidedly human traits. Plus Orac doesn't quite know when to shut up.  
> 

    Even as I introduce my new self to the crew of The Blake, I am still in the process of  coalescing. From that desolate plain in Gauda Prime to my becoming a computer, my new existence is a melding of what is left of my organic self with my ship's alien technology. When I had sent the verbal command for the other members of the crew to teleport, I had also set in motion my own transformation: I had been instantly atomized, sent as a scattered signal and then integrated into The Blake, which has now become my exquisite and very welcome prison. I have been siphoned, sorted and arranged, put to immediate use in harmonious union with my ship. And it is... beautiful.  
    I had not even been certain that this venture would be successful, but my alien engineers had assured me it had been done many times with their own people. I, however, would be the first stranger to their race to ever undergo the merging of a human and artificial consciousness. And frankly, I really had no where else to go and nothing else left to lose.  
    As swiftly and completely as my metamorphosis had occurred, my human memories are even now being sifted and compartmentalized, yet never entirely jettisoned. Perhaps this would come at a later time and I may deem them unnecessary for my new incarnation. But I am still a reborn entity and I am finding it necessary to cling to what I may consider irrelevant data so I might transition more gently into my new existence with the least amount of trauma.  
    I do not wish to go mad again, after all. I have a duty to my new crew and my ship. I have taken on this responsibility and I have essentially become one with The Blake.  
    Still, as I am testing my new functions and how far my boundaries reach, pockets of my old life flicker in and out of my programming; emotions and memories better left lost in deep, hidden caches within me, unattainable to all but myself. These sensations, for lack of a better terminology for them, now threaten to overwhelm my new system and they must be checked. Memories of the man Kerr Avon beset me all at once, juxtaposed with my otherwise mundane tests of life support functions, velocity and hull integrity. There is also the awareness that my new crew is staring at me, at my vast hexagonal reference-screen, with shock and horrible wonder.  
  
    A memory, fleeting and poignant. A promise.  
    I had rushed toward the medical unit, desperate and panting, until I remembered my illusion of self-control and checked my pace. My sudden attempt to saunter into the chamber with casual indifference did not fool Cally, who was adjusting Blake's bandage where he had been shot by Travis.  
    "He's stable," she told me with a knowing glance at my badly concealed concern. "He'll live."  
    "I'm sure you're overjoyed by that prospect," muttered Blake weakly, not even turning his head to look at me.  
    "Cally, I need a word alone with Blake. We need to devise a plan for escaping the Andromedan fleet."  
    Cally gave me a potent look; she was no fool. She gave a glance to Blake who was obviously in pain, but he winced and finally nodded. She stood infront of me, fixing me with penetrating deep amber eyes, followed by a telepathic hiss: *He needs rest, Avon. Don't antagonize him. Most of all: don't let him do anything stupid.* She turned and with one abrupt movement, sprinted off toward the flight deck where the others were watching the approach of six hundred enemy vessels.  
    I muttered to myself, "Oh, if only I had that special talent, Cally."  
    Blake still had his head turned from me. He face was a sunken display of utter weariness and defeat. He looked like he wanted to weep. And I, of course, melted.  
    "Avon," he groaned as I sank down by his side. I glanced at the empty doorway to make certain we were absolutely alone, then I took one of his big hands in both of mine and covered it with kisses. It was a very Blake-like act of affection; his sentimental nonsense had become contagious.  
    "You're an idiot," I growled. "You're a complete and utter FOOL."  
    "So much for comforting words," Blake muttered. "Your bedside manner is fairly deplorable, Avon."  
    "Did you think you would escape me so easily?" I continued nastily even as I stroked his thick curls. "Travis is dead. He can't ever hurt you again."  
    "Travis was the least of my problems." His eyes were half-closed; it was an effort for him to even talk to me. "I thought you wanted to be free of me."  
    "It would appear I was mistaken."  
    "I thought you hated me."  
    Closing my eyes, I brought his hand to my face and rubbed my cheek against it. "Sometimes I do."  
    I leaned forward to kiss him, but he interrupted my gratuitous show of devotion by gasping: "The fleet. We have to fight them off." He wriggled out of my embrace and began to get up.  
    I was annoyed. "What? No! That's impossible." I grasped both of his arms, trying in futility to hold him down.  
    "I need to get to the deck and tell the others--"  
    "NO! This is insanity. Stay put!"  
    But one of his large hands gripped my arm like a vice, imprisoning it. He was actually hurting me. He then gave reasons for the Liberator to stay and fight until the Federation could arrive with backup warships. I listened to his foolhardy, guilt-ridden and yet sound reasons for fighting and not running-- and I wanted to argue, rail at him, shake him by the shoulders and call him a idiot again. Instead, I desisted and surrendered.  
    It probably had to do with the tears sliding down his cheeks.  
    "I need to do this," he insisted.  
    "No," I snapped. "No, you don't. I'LL do it."  
    He began to protest but I snarled back at him, "It is imperative that you TRUST me. You told me you trusted me more than anyone else the other night, or don't you recall? Now I want you to PROVE it."  
    "Avon," he sighed.  
    I put my hands on either side his face, forcing him to focus on me. "Do you TRUST me?"  
    He sighed again, drained and despairing. Finally he murmured: "You must promise you won't run away. Promise me you'll stay and fight. Promise."  
    My fingers smoothed away the tears on his cheeks. I wanted nothing more than to stay right here by his side, holding him, protecting him, cursing him. Instead I said,  
    "I promise."  
    And I held his hand one final time, his fingers laced with mine. He lifted my fingers to his lips, a kiss. "Thank you." I gave him a hard stare and then abruptly turned away to go to the deck and tell the others of Blake's new strategy.  
    But my word had not been enough, apparently. A few minutes later, Blake was staggering onto the deck himself and I confronted him in fury. "Couldn't you bring yourself to trust me just this once...?"  
    "Avon, for what it is worth, I have always trusted you. From the very beginning."  
     He then turned sadly from me, obsolete.  
      
    And the next time I ever saw him was when I shot him on Gauda Prime.  
      
    I had told him we would endure. I had promised.  
    We could never have won. Why, then, had I even promised?  
    Why not.  
  
    There was complete stunned silence from my new crew after I had spoken my name in my new form. After a few awkward moments had passed, the first sound to be heard was the strange, rasping laughter from the usually silent bounty hunter named Kurasi. "He's become the ship's computer! Of course!" It was the first time I had heard her speak in days. I appreciated the irony.  
    +Allow Orac to explain my new state. Or over-explain, if you prefer.+  
    "Here I was thinking we'd finally seen the last of you," Mero groaned.  
    +Sorry to disappoint.+, I replied and my tart new mechanical voice was uncannily like my former human one. I must confess to liking its renewed velvety consistency.  
    Zachriel inserted the key with urgency into Orac, which buzzed into happy chirping life. "Orac, how is Avon the ship's computer now? Did he program a likeness of his personality into it?"  
    +Essentially, yes, but there is more to that. Like my own creator, Avon programmed his personality and knowledge as rudimentary additions to The Blake's computer so that all relative parts of his own knowledge and expertise could be readily accessible. He copied my inventor's methods as well and now billions of databases can be accessed through him.+  
    "Are we to refer to Avon as 'him'?" Mero demanded. "Isn't 'he' an 'it', just a machine?" He looked pointedly at Orac, whom I had, when I was still a man standing on Gauda Prime, referred to as "just a machine".  
     +It is a bit more complicated than that.+ Orac continued busily. + Whilst assigning gender to an inanimate object, despite one as brilliant as I, is a decidedly human endearment, the actual essence of the human you knew as Kerr Avon was teleported directly into the circuitry of the ship's computer upon your arrival. This is indeed Avon, not simply a mechanical replica. The Altan engineers he was working with offered a more permanent solution to integrating himself into the ship and he has been transposed and bodily merged into the processor.+  
    Zachriel looked at my huge hexagonal screen, then at Captain Persephone's astounded face. "Do you mean to tell me that his organic matter is mixed in there? That the computer is essentially cybernetic?"  
    "Avon, you've been put INSIDE?" Persephone gasped. "How does it feel? Is it--"  
    "This is impossible!" snapped Mero. "We just saw him on the planet. This is a clever trick of some sort. I'm not taking orders from that THING."  
    Orac began to answer again, but my voice firmly cut it off.  
    +Shut up, Orac. Yes, I'm in here. I was reassembled from when you last saw me before you teleported. The last ingredient needed to activate the ship's computer was... well, myself. You must consider me a fellow entity on board, your seventh crew member, as it were. Yes, I am no longer a human but I am more than a computer. And I prefer to be called 'him' --or even called by my name, which is Avon, and not 'Thing'. Understood?+  
    "Oh great, " Mero groaned. "This is going to be a complete joy dealing with you."  
    +Likewise.+ I hissed.  
  
    "So," said Persephone to my screen's spiraling array of lights, "the 'you' we saw on Gauda Prime is here with us now, just... different and mixed up inside the computer?"  
    +Hopefully not mixed up too badly,+  I remarked.  +And it's quite a unique sensation which I am learning to adapt to very quickly. I hope to be at maximum efficiency within minutes. Even as we are speaking, I am accessing all ship's functions. Everything is currently at peak performance.+  
    "Did Orac mention the Altans? Weren't they the original builders of the Liberator from whom Blake's crew, including yourself, barely escaped?" Persephone asked.  
    +Ah, good to see you've been studying up. Yes, I made use of their expertise. But I was assisted by a much friendlier bunch this time.+  
    Orac chimed in:  +Some factions of Altans, those who built the Liberator and formed its computer Zen, did not ally themselves with those who tried to do grievous harm to the Liberator crew. And thanks to my invaluable facility, we managed that aforementioned escape by utilizing my logical plan to--+  
    +Move the story along, Orac,+  I said testily.  
    +The Liberator's computer Zen was of a similar hybrid as Avon is currently. Once entirely Altan, as well as a scientist and philosopher, the individual who would become Zen was himself integrated into the Liberator. Eventually he became a being of pure intellect and information. As I surmise Avon himself will someday become, after he is merged long enough with The Blake.+  
    +If I'm lucky, that is, +  I murmured.  +And you lot don't blow up the ship.+  
    The large ex-soldier Nerissa began to laugh, joining her smaller friend Kurasi in mirth. "Well, I for one am glad you're here with us, Avon. Just sad your handsome face isn't. I'm not as worried about you anymore."  
    I made no reply to this but I was aware that the lights of my screen had shifted to a gentle rose color.  
    "Thank the gods," muttered Mero. "I can deal with the big talking screen but not his face."  
    The color patterns on my screen must somehow exhibit emotion, I surmised. Was this something of which I should be concerned? Perhaps I should make adjustments at a later time in order to control this idiosyncrasy. The current scattering of rosy lights abruptly vanished, however, when Zachriel addressed me. "This is far too strange for me. Your own expertise is artificial intelligence, Avon. Is it really safe to have such a... forgive me, there's no better way to put it-- a humanized computer?"  
    He did have a point. I was an untried entity, newly cybernetic, formerly very human no matter how detached I had perceived myself. I had just been transformed into something previously beyond the scope of my imagining, and I was even now still clinging with desperation to my fading humanity. The inflections of emotion in my current vocal patterns attested to this. Apparently even a computer might sigh, and I did, even if it was only an anthropomorphic affectation.  
    +Safe or not, it is what you get. You can back out of this now and I will teleport you down to Gauda Prime and subsequently arrange transportation for you from that hellhole. You are not my prisoners. I chose you for your skills, but you are free to go at any time. Though I will of course be extremely disappointed in your lack of trust in my directive.+  
    Persephone looked thoughtful, then grinned. "I would actually like a computer I can have a human conversation with. One with a personality."  
    Oh, I had chosen her well.  
    "I think it's dangerous," Zachriel glowered. "Avon, it's technology that's never been used on a human before. I don't doubt your brilliance, but what if you become... unstable?"  
    +Life is dangerous. Get used to it.+  My voice was cool again and my screen flickered again to a calmer mosaic pattern.  +But I have indeed anticipated that possible outcome and have programmed into myself failsafes. In the case of certain... discrepancies in my behavior... the part of me that was Kerr Avon will be shut down completely and I shall become pure machine.+    
   Despite my wariness, I was feeling illimitable, powerful. I reassured them: +My current control is impeccable. I essentially AM the ship.+  
    Orac whirred testily, as if not getting enough attention: +My input will be invaluable as always, as it is I who enabled you to achieve the degree of knowledge necessary for your transition.+  
    "Great," muttered Zachriel. "Two computers with egos. "  
    +Then you should feel right at home with yours, Zachriel.+  
    I did not have eyes but rather scanners set in every direction, giving me multiple "camera" viewpoints all at once. It would have been overwhelming to a human brain, yet I was processing the myriad array of images without any difficult. However, the man Avon would have grinned wickedly at the sour look Zachriel flashed at the others who were laughing at his expense. No, I would certainly not be missing any visual interactions between crew members.  
    Orac then decided to take this moment to become intrusively candid:  
    +It was Avon's unique bond with the human rebel leader Roj Blake that initiated this intelligence transferal--+  
    The prism of lights on my screen scattered into a furious whirlwind. +Shut up, Orac.+  
    +I am merely informing The Blake's crew members of necessary data which rationalizes certain choices that were made and thus offers them humanoid reference points for your new--+  
    +Turn Orac off.+  
    "But this is getting interesting," the bounty hunter named Kurasi grinned. "I want to hear more about you and Roj Blake." "Blake", of course, had been the name she had spoken to me which had convinced me to add her to my crew. They had both been bounty hunters on Gauda Prime together and apparently Blake had once saved her life. "I'm sure he would also appreciate the lovely and endearing gesture of having a ship named after him," she smiled with knowing slyness. She was definitely becoming more loquacious by the moment.  
    +OFF!+  
    I boomed this in the loudest electronic voice I could muster. It echoed throughout the sloping ceiling of the flight deck, shaking the seating and rattling the walls. It nearly deafened my crew. They all covered their ears, and then Zachriel hurriedly pulled the key out of Orac, resulting in the plaintive buzzing sound of it being silenced.  
    +Thank you.+    
    My voice had resumed its normal drawl.  
    "Some touchy personal info there?" remarked Zachriel, smirking.  
     I ignored him. I addressed them now in a more civil tone. +As I was saying, this screen is your reference point aboard The Blake. You may consult me whenever you wish. I am infinitely available, of course.+  
    "So if we decide to stay, this will essentially become a technocracy?" sneered Mero. "You'll always be the one in charge-- an actual ghost in the machine?"  
    I was beginning to regret my choice for pilot but I would at least give him an opportunity to redeem himself. +Nicely put,+ I concurred. +And yes. While I welcome all discussion, my data and my recommendations will be unparalleled. And I will not be contradicted. Are we clear?+  
    There was silence; I was frightening some of them. If I had still been human, I might have unsettled even myself. I felt my formless self flow out in millions of simultaneous directions, testing, analyzing, arranging. I reached out to the ship itself, re-checking life support, dimming corridors just to see the result; adjusting, correcting. I felt the very hull of the ship, its life and breath, and it might have even been orgastic to be so limitless.  
    I kept a small pocket of humility hidden deeply within my programing, so deep it would be inaccessible to all but myself. I call this tiny file "Talisman" and within it are stored human moments to remind me of why I became this new entity. Here are stored the ragged remnants of my ill-fated sentiment. Here is the memory of being entwined with Roj Blake for only a single night, sleeping with my head on his shoulder while he stroked my hair. Here I kept the safe memory of his love and his complete trust in me--the trust that I had, in reality, destroyed with three shots. This last memory I did not omit, though it was tempting to purge it forever. I only filed it elsewhere, away from Talisman, stripping it of all emotion. What sentimentality for my past self that I wished to retain I collected and placed into Talisman for those times when it might be necessary to remind myself of what I had once been.  
    The crew was adjusting to all of this with surprising grace, I felt. They-- and Persephone foremost-- were prepared to take on the vast challenges of overthrowing a regime and I was offering them precious and unimaginable resources to do so. Part of the bargain was just accepting the bizarreness of my on-board presence.  
    They were silent, I believe, waiting for their leader to speak. She had been quiet and pensive during the previous altercations and I understood she was processing the newness and the peculiarities as I myself was doing. Persephone (or "Percy" as she wanted me to call her, but I would rather not) would be my closest ally aboard. I had hoped she would become my touchstone. Even now she stepped closer to my screen, studying the patterns the lights made on its marbled surface, determined hands on hips. She smiled up at me.  
    "It is an honor to assist, Avon. I've told you that already. You have my loyalty."  
    She stood in front of the others, fixing her stern gaze on each face, one at a time. "Are you all with me? Is this something we can accomplish? Look at what we've been given." She made a grand gesture at the flight deck.  
    Nerissa saluted immediately, without hesitation. Zachriel shook his head dubiously at both women's optimism, but then gave a begrudging sigh of acquiescence. Kurasi nodded slowly, grinning in her strange, quiet way. And Mero rolled his eyes and muttered, "I made the effort to get here, didn't I?"  
    Persephone accepted these reactions as affirmations to the mission. She turned back to me, or rather to my reference point, the hexagon.  
    "For what it's worth, Avon," she said, "I will always trust you."  
   I was taken off-guard.  
    The lights on the flight deck began to flicker and then suddenly dimmed. The colored array on my screen abruptly stilled, becoming only a solitary, pulsing blue band of luminescence. Fool. I had been testing ship's functions as she had been speaking and she had startled me with her declaration. It had sounded so...  
    Blake.  
    The unpredictable aspect of humanness of which Zachriel had spoken had seized me without warning, compromised me. I needed to reconfigure my programming and eliminate such future emotional responses or they would endanger my crew-- and more importantly, jeopardize my ship and what was left of Blake's dream. I had thought becoming a computer would eradicate the problem of sentiment once and for all, but it was evident now that I was wrong. The potent word "trust" had made me falter-- and to falter would not make for a reliable computer or a proper ship's sentinel.  
    I composed myself. The lights snapped back on in full and the ship resumed its normalcy with a reassuring hum. I must work on my control, even if it meant jettisoning Talisman.  
    +Confirmed.+  I replied crisply to my captain. +All systems functioning normally. I am always available for your consultation and it is my hope that you will continue to be confident with your decision to trust me.+    
    Persephone frowned at the impersonal, machine-like tone of my voice. "Very good, Avon. Why not set us on course now that we're all up to speed?"  
    +Confirmed. I am setting a course for the Chimaera Delta quadrant.+  
  
    "Avon," she said quietly, privately. "Is everything all right?"  
    +Of course. I'm just making adjustments to my efficiency. This is still a very singular experience and I am continuing to learn what works best for ALL of us.+  
    She smiled, relieved. "We're quite a mixed group of personalities, but then that's why you chose us." Her voice lowered, became gentle: "I am still your friend no matter what form you're in. Should you feel a human need to talk---"  
    I cut her off. +No. I think not. Thank you... Percy.+  
    "All right," she shrugged. "The offer will always stand." She stared at my screen as if it were indeed my face. And perhaps it was now. "This will work. We will make this work."  
    +Of course it will work. I've had a long time to plan this out. And there is a longer time ahead for... us... to succeed.+  
    For a moment I felt Blake there somewhere like another ghost in the machine. I prepared to push Talisman even deeper within myself, farther away; I could not risk another mistake, another unexpected attack of sentiment. Perhaps in time I would even forget Talisman was there, and I myself would become a pure computer rather than a hybrid. Perhaps this was how it must become in order for my new existence to succeed. But for the briefest moment I allowed myself a last glimpse into Talisman, and held it like a precious jewel in my consciousness.  
    I will take much better care of you this way, Blake-- now that you're my ship and I'm your computer. You've become an idea and I've become its guardian. If anything happens to The Blake, I am gone with it and you are gone as well.  
    But look at us now, Blake. Just look at the two of us now.  
   
  
END  
  


End file.
